Because the trailer was promising.
It’s early October. Joker’s name is finally a movie title. The promising trailer draws popcorn crowds. You — compared with a decade ago — can afford the premiere on the big screen.
By the time the main character sits in the locker room poring over the clown shoe, the crunch of popcorn completely stops and everyone realizes that this is not an “action”.
As the closing credits begin, the audience exits in silence.
After the premiere of the film, or, rather, during the scene of the Joker’s exaltation over the chaos of anarcho-Gotham, I accepted the film as a worthy autonomous story.
Do you often watch or read interviews before the premiere? No. It all rather limits to the trailer. Especially if it comes to Friday session, where a familiar name from the comic book is featured. The viewer is ready for a big story from that other universe, where grand events happen, where contrast things occur.
Immediately after leaving the cinema hall, my friend fairly summed up: “they shouldn’t have advertised an art house as action”.
Indeed, 95% of those who were in the cinema hall crammed into chairs. For unepic murders and a climactic monologue with a shot during a talk-show is … unappetizing.
So, as for Friday, my friend didn’t like it either.
As for myself, I joined in the narrative and appreciated the ugliness of madness. Finally, the Joker was given a whole picture, and he showed how disgusting the formation of madness is.
Ledger was brilliant. His phenomenal acting (which was slightly muted) was perfectly analyzed by Ivan Didenko. He explained its power by the fact that Ledger used Stanislavsky’s “experiencing” technique, and this is a rare practice for Western cinema.
Here, we must pay tribute to how Phoenix’s Joker dissolved into chaos — he managed to distract the audience from the idea that no one will beat Heath Ledger. Whether it was done honestly or not is another matter. After all, in 2019, the audience was anticipating an attempt to conquer the image of the Joker, which we could appreciate with trepidation. Or not. Instead, we were forced to look at the little man and his ugly psychedelic story of irrevocable madness, at the man who was consumed by chaos.